


then the sunlight dims

by paravin



Series: down this broken line [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Corruption, M/M, Mind Control, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: There’s static at the base of Saint’s skull.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), The Crow/Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Series: down this broken line [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206470
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	then the sunlight dims

**Author's Note:**

> I was considering doing one of the daily fic events active at the moment but I am bad at both planning and consistency so instead this is an excuse to poke at some experimental bits and pieces in between regular fics. apologies in advance to anyone subscribed to me. :|
> 
> written for the prompt of ‘mind control’. kind of.

There’s static at the base of Saint’s skull.

It itches, a gnawing friction amid chips and wires. He rolls his shoulders, trying to work it out of him the same way he would a crick in his neck or a glitch in his circuits, but the static lingers, a calm emptiness atop his spine.

“Saint?”

He doesn’t remember Crow being on that side of the hangar but he turns to face him anyway. “Yes, little bird?”

Crow’s brow dips in a frown. His lips open, then close, then open again, and the static crackles as Saint’s gaze lingers on his mouth. His systems try to interpret but it’s just void.

“Did you want to get lunch?” Crow asks eventually. “I can bring you something if you want?”

It was breakfast fourteen minutes ago. His internal clock reads 1:18pm. 

The static hums, content, and so Saint hums, content. 

“Time is getting away from me,” he says, chuckling, “but I would very much like some lunch. Come, tell me what you are wanting today.”

He catches up to him, resting one hand between Crow’s shoulders as they make their way down to the City in search of food. 

The crease of worry in Crow’s brow smoothes out as they go. Both Saint and the static are pleased.  


———

  
“Are you coming?”

Osiris’ voice is muffled beneath the rush of the shower. Saint doesn’t remember coming into the bathroom but he’s here now, with Osiris, and there’s static building in his arms.

Osiris’ robes hang on the door and Saint strips off to join him beneath the showerhead that isn’t quite wide enough for two. Heat pushes at the static when Osiris leans up to kiss him, a strange, cresting resistance, and for a moment, Saint’s sensors are sharp enough to feel the soft warmth of Osiris’ hips beneath his hands.

The static returns. Slowly, carefully, curiously. 

With Osiris pressed against him, Saint is glad and so the static is glad. The heat is reinforcement, not resistance, and the static surges with it as Saint lets Osiris back him against the tiles. 

“You’ve been quiet,” Osiris says. His hand rests against Saint’s chest, the bones of it fragile but not to be broken. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is good,” Saint promises. “It is nice to see you away from your work. So many little floaty cubes.”

Osiris’ eyes narrow but it is only a teasing glitch as he leans up to kiss him again. “My cubes are important.”

“ _You_ are important,” Saint says. The static agrees and Saint’s fingers pulse as he cups Osiris’ cheek, the void aching to bleed through plastic and into skin. “I can take or leave the cubes.”

Osiris’ laugh burns, the heat expanding like a hungry sun. If he were to throw himself into it, Saint wonders whether the fire or the void would survive.

The static coils in his core, guiding his circuits to a better logic, and when Saint pulls Osiris into another kiss, conflict is no longer a valid outcome. The void and fire will co-exist, dark flames spreading in the absence of Light, and they will be safe and together and happy.  


———

  
He sends Geppetto away.

He cannot harm her, _would not_ harm her, but equally he cannot keep her close. Compared to the soothing buzz of the static, her presence is a screeching, scratching siren that makes his eyesockets ache. While he appreciates her words of concern when she retreats into the Light, he appreciates her absence more.

Crow is more difficult. 

He ducks out of the way as Saint throws a punch, eyes gleaming beneath his hood. It takes Saint a second to pick out the word past the thrum of the void in his wiring — fighting, teasing, _sparring_ — but it clicks eventually. He lands a pointed kick to Crow’s thigh. “Watch your flank.”

The static expands, pushing down into his legs and knuckles with rumbling encouragement, but Saint’s movements slow.

He wants Crow with them, together in the same peace that he and Osiris can build, but each time he reaches out, the static won’t follow. Crow is a crown of bright thorns, sharp against Saint’s grip, and while Saint is willing to cut himself to ribbons at the touch, the static is not.

Crow circles left. A glowing knife slides into existence in his right hand and the static surges in a furious wave until Saint barely feels his own arm moving, a mindless extension of a greater whole.

The knife falls and fades, sparks scattering like sand. Crow looks up at him from the floor, bruises shining, and Saint wonders how easy it would be to reduce those bright thorns to glittering dust.

The static promises him it would be beautiful.  


———

  
Saint isn’t sure how he got here. However, as the static rejoices inside him, he’s confident that here is the right place to be.

“Saint!”

Crow’s throat is warm beneath his hand. The thorns of his nails dig into Saint’s plates as he tries to pry him off but Saint’s fingers sing with static and any pain falls away. 

“I’m sorry,” Saint says, and means it. He tucks the strands of Crow’s hair behind his ear but frowns when Crow’s struggles only shake them lose again. He hopes he calms soon. “This is the only way.”

“Please,” Crow begs. His legs kick out, and the pulse of the static in Saint’s chest feels like laughter. “Saint, stop-”

“Saint!”

There’s another hand on his arm now, cold and demanding, and Saint snarls. 

The static wraps down the length of his spine. In his mind’s eye, Saint sees the void-flames flicker and he lashes out in panic, catching his opponent hard across the face. “You will not keep me from him!”

The static writhes in satisfaction, the empty crackle winding through him, and Saint tightens his grip on Crow’s throat as he looks down to check the status of the intruder.

“Osiris?”

The static stops.

There are thorns in Saint’s palm and fire on his knuckles and he isn’t sure how he got here.

“I-”

Crow drops to the ground as soon as Saint releases him. He scrambles back across the kitchen floor, one hand holding his throat, but Saint can’t take his eyes off the blood trickling down Osiris’ cheek from where Saint struck him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

The static is silent, its hiss burned out by the smears of Osiris’ blood on his knuckles, but part of the void remains, threatening to swallow him up in shame. 

“I didn’t mean-”

Crow backs up when Saint advances but Osiris doesn’t even flinch. If Saint were being kind, he’d say Osiris’ gaze is clinical, assessing Saint’s physical health and the threat he poses, but he knows Osiris is seeing far more than that.

Saint sinks to his knees. 

He feels sick at only admitting this now, after the evidence of his mistakes is carved into flesh in front of him, but when he feels the cold itch of static at the base of his skull, he has to get the words out while he still can.

“I think something’s wrong with me…”


End file.
